What's in a Name?
by NotMarge
Summary: Names mean something. Some names tell you what you have been. Some names tell you what you are. Introspective into a few of the characters' of Mad Max: Fury Road and their unusual names.


I do not own Mad Max: Fury Road.

I do own a name. And I'm not going to tell it to you ;)

What's in a Name?

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Names were important things in the wasteland, especially the Citadel.

Names were not to be taken lightly.

Because they said who you were what you were what you could do.

Because sometimes your name was all you had.

Sometimes your name told your story.

To those who cared to listen.

And for those privileged to exist with names in the confines of the Citadel were oft named by the man himself. Their leader, their god.

Immortan Joe.

Once a fighter, survivor, like any other.

Risen to power by his unwavering ruthlessness.

And willingness to sacrifice absolutely anything and everything it took to become a living god.

Who hid his physical weakness behind a fierce mask and false breastplate of enduring strength.

So they, the desolate ones, would revere him, fear him, worship him.

And have a reason to look up from the mire of their squalid lives.

Look up and believe in something other than the endless sand and dirt and dry.

And so there was Immortan Joe, whose sickness and limitations were only known to a chosen few.

His son, Rictus Erectus. So named as the dead flesh. Dead, rotting flesh. Dead, rotting flesh that breathed, that lived, that moved. A powerhouse of muscle and brawn. With hardly any brain at all.

Unworthy of his father.

Except to protect him.

Die for him.

The personal servants of Immortan Joe, the Unnamed Ghosts. They knew his frailties and were trusted with the secret. Trusted because their tongues had been cut out so that they _could_ be trusted.

And his coveted wives.

Directly named by him.

Their previous monikers tossed aside as casually as he had tossed aside their previous existences.

As casually might toss aside his loincloth before a session of rutting.

Or their chastity fetters.

The Splendid Angharad, the much loved one. She was his ethereal being, his most coveted prize. For her long legs, her pale blondness, her full lips, and thick lashes.

He treated her most kindly. Gave her the mother's milk in which to bathe her tender flesh.

So that he may taste of it later.

It was she who first bore him a child, even now growing and cooking and ripening within her succulent, fertile womb.

Growing him a child, a son, that would finally be worthy of his sire.

Worthy to be an Immortan.

Toast the Knowing. Joe's dark beauty. With her dark eyes and pure, unblemished hatred of him. He named her so on the night of the great feast.

Raised his glass of clean, perfect water and boomed.

"I toast the knowing. For she sees deeper into any creature and knows their souls. Even as I tear them from their dying corpses."

And so she had been named and so she had become.

Because as she was knowing, he was blind.

The fiery red-haired beauty, Capable. She would adorn herself the most, wrapping her flesh in layers of sheers to conceal herself from prying eyes. And hid her true thoughts and contemplations at bottom of her gut.

She had been named on the night of her third escape attempt, having sorely wounded several of his sentries.

"She has proven herself quite capable, don't you agree?" He had bellowed rowdily in the face one man who had nearly had his eye gouged out. "Capable of ripping your spine out of your ass!"

Joe had roared with laughter and sent to her the best serving of food that night.

And visited her in the wee hours to unchain her bonds.

And unchain his beast.

The Dag.

She was his trash, his filth in which he reveled when he wanted to get dirty.

Her slightly diminished resemblance to his Splendid Angharad made her his plaything when he wanted to visit upon someone the fires and obscenities of his passions he dare not sear his angelic creature with.

She was his animal.

And he laughed when she wept and cowered and cried.

And gave her treats when she performed well.

Cheedo the Fragile. A true child of the Citadel, taking comfort in its high entrapping walls, afraid of the world beyond the rock.

So named because Immortan liked to keep fragile things.

Fragile things that he could break, dismember, snap, destroy on a whim. Keep them close at hand so he could choose not to do so.

Because he held the power in his hands.

In only his hands.

Her gratitude to his grace of her made her his lap pet, his most subservient wife.

And made her sick and twisted up inside.

When he was inside.

The woman he called Imperator Furiosa was not one of his wives. Though he had once thought she would be when he had first laid eyes upon her in the Citadel.

He'd had her sheltered and washed and groomed and well-fed for several days so that she may be more appealing to him when her took her for his own.

And as he had moved to take her, she had fought him with such a ferocity that he had been forced to tie her down. She had broken her own arm in a wild, howling struggle for her own freedom.

And he had laughed, loud and long in her pain-filled face. He had laughed and laughed and laughed.

And sent her away and thought nothing more of her.

As she had been thereafter marred and unfit for him.

With her broken, imperfect flesh.

When the arm had become infected with gangrene and bloated death flies buzzed greedily about her head, she had grabbed up a clever and biting down on a bloody bandage, severed the dead, rotting flesh from the rest of her body.

And passed out.

In her feverish delirium, seen Immortan Joe once more standing above her, laughing, laughing, laughing.

Only this time he seemed mildly pleased at her fortitude, her determination.

And ordered her patched up and moderately looked after.

To see if she would live.

And when, in her fury and hate, lived out of sheer grit and spite, he named her for her fierce resolve and had her sent through the war rooms and the fighting pits.

Until she had risen up.

And become one of his most deadly Commanders.

A singular woman.

Among legions of bloodthirsty men.

And so names were powerful things in the Wasteland.

Because they tell you what you are.

And what your end would be.

* * *

 **Okay then. That just came out, huh? Ha.**

 **Well, anyway, I just just curious as to some of those odd names. Then of course I started typing and now here we are.**

 **Thanks to brigid1318, DinahRay, Comingsummers, Houdini'sLastEscape, jcott3, Reikumi, and Persnickety Potato for your generous reviews.**

 **Thanks also to AceofAngel, It's just me and u, Mistress Thorki, wearetheliv1ngdead for adding your support to this little snippet as well.**

 **Everybody appreciate feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


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